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It was without a doubt our coldest night yet and we did not risk poking our frosted noses out from under the covers until the sun was well and truly up. The view through the misted windscreen was even more stunning than the previous night and what we really needed was Billy appear to provide his customary morning tea delivery. Sadly Dad was neglecting his duties so I stepped up to the challenge and slipped out into the fresh morning and with numb fingers, but a wide smile I fired up the stove and produced 2 steaming mugs which complimented the lie in nicely.
The sun eventually got warm,forcing us out of our nest, into our beautiful morning surroundings and on to the road East.
We didn't stop in Riverton again, it looked even more dishevelled during the working day, instead we continued to the metropolis which was Invercargill. A lovely city if you wanted to buy a car, tractor or carpet, not so good if you required a parking space near a coffee shop. After several tours of the suburbs we eventually managed to secure a parking spot, coffee and cakes. Result! Bob indulged in a gooey caramel slice whilst I relived my Raffles experience with a manly friande and we discussed 'the plan'.
Re-caffeinated we tootled South to Bluff, famous for its oysters, and for providing misleading signs at the start of historical walks. After 90 minutes of stomping we were both a little cheesed off with my 'short circuit' of the previously fortified peninsula, however, we spotted several Tui, and a Keredu and Bob found a huge seed in some Keredu poo so it wasn't all bad.
We arrived back at Stirling point where a sign post stated that we were 1401km from Cape Reigna (the northern tip of North Island) and 18958km from London. This was all very well but we were sweaty, foot sore and very much in need of a cold beverage so as it was only posing as the southern-most point we moved swiftly on.
With an ice cold Coke and an L&P rattling in the Enema's drinks holders we headed back to Invercargill, finding a Pac'nSave (the Mecca of supermarkets) for restocking and refuelling. We stopped on a shady backroad for lunch at 4pm, then pushed on along the dead straight and dead boring roads, heading for Curio Bay, where Bob had located an exciting sounding campsite for the night.
As we arrived on the end of the windswept peninsula it was clear that this was not a normal campsite. It was in fact a maze through a sea of flax bushes which, in places, opened straight onto the surf strewn bay just down the cliff face, other hideyholes were cocooned on 3 sides by rustling greenery, which is where we settled. The facilities were 'basic' and contained in 3 tiny circular, windmill-like buildings, spray painted with murals of surfers, bodybuilders and crying children... The showers were coin operated and felt more like an abbattoir with their sliding curved door and sluices, all in need of a lick of paint. We won't discuss the toilets.
I washed up the previous nights unnesecarily vegetarian curry before we both donned shorts for a run to the penguin colony (no penguins commuting), through the woodlands and then out along the beach alongside the crashing surf. Mare's tails amongst a mackerel sky all confirmed what the weather forecast predicted which was the imminent arrival of bad weather so we showered (bravely), then set about preparing beef stroganoff in the diminutive circular kitchen.
As is currently the fashion for us we forgot to buy the cream which Watties (NZ equivalent of Heinz) suggested their sauce required but eaten out of the pan on a windswept cliff top bench overlooking a picturesque, surf hammered beach it was hard to beat. Washing up done we walked to the point as the sun faded behind the amassing storm clouds before retiring to the front seats of the enema for tea, muffins and literature, making wet weather plans for tomorrow. In between swatting sand flies I managed to finish my first book (Bob has read 6 since leaving Heathrow...) which lead to a very satisfied drift into sleep.
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